


please get Claire some new furniture

by Klaroline



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/F, What am I doing, also! i can't believe this happened, bc it'd be so good, have other people considered this ship?, i wish essays were as easy to write as this was, there is some swearing and kissing so i guess it's pg-13?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klaroline/pseuds/Klaroline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People need to stop bleeding on Claire's furniture. Really.</p><p>(Or- what would happen if Claire and Laurel met? The answer: kisses, bc they are both bi babes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	please get Claire some new furniture

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [Larissa](http://nyssalghul.tumblr.com/) for contributing a ton of ideas and obsessing about Claire/Laurel with me (sorry I wrote it so quickly so we didn't really have time to co-write it. I got excited.)

Claire can’t believe this is becoming a common occurrence in her life. How’d she end up playing nurse for injured vigilantes anyway? The fact that they’re all too damn attractive is only a slightly redeemable factor, and Claire is honestly getting sick of it.

 _Black Canary_. Claire scoffs. At least it’s better than _Daredevil_. Slightly.

“Thank you.” Claire startles, and looks up from her handiwork. Two shallow gashes in the woman’s side, as well as a nasty gunshot wound in her upper arm had been expertly cleaned and patched up.

“I think I’m okay now.” She stands up, and starts moving toward the door. Claire opens her mouth to tell her that she’s almost half-naked, when the woman stumbles, and Claire moves quickly to support her.

“Thank you.” Black Canary repeats. “I’m Laurel.” She mumbles. Claire frowns at how easily she,  _Laurel_ , reveals what probably is supposed to be her “secret” identity, and puts it down to blood loss, as well as obvious exhaustion.

“There’s no fucking way you’re leaving here tonight. Knife wounds I can fix, but even I can't help you if you're dead."

Laurel grins slightly. “I’ll take the couch.” She turns toward the couch, still supported by Claire, who holds onto her, tightly.

“No way, honey. We’re getting you to the bed.” Claire half drags her along, until she can help Laurel lay down.

Claire steps back, but Laurel catches a hold of her hand. “Where are you going?” She mumbles groggily.

“To the couch.”

Laurel frowns. “No no no… I can’t just take your bed from you.” She makes a move, as to sit up, and Claire gently, but firmly, pushes her back down.

“We’ll share, then.” Claire rolls her eyes. There has to be a limit to this self-sacrifice shit.

Laurel nods, apparently satisfied with this arrangement. Claire rolls her eyes again, but as she lays down, Laurel smiles sweetly at her, and Claire has to fight the urge to smile back, in favor of sending another annoyed look at the injured vigilante currently occupying her bed. _Been there, done that._ Claire muses. She shakes the thought out of her head, and continues to fight it off as Laurel curls up against her side.

 

When Claire wakes up the next morning, the first thing she sees is blood covered sheets.

Claire frowns “I swear, vigilantes are a hazard to my health. This is gonna be hell to clean up.” She mutters to herself.

The second thing she sees, or rather doesn’t see, is the woman who’d previously occupied the other side of her bed. Laurel is gone. Claire represses the tiny flash of disappointment.  
However, when she leaves her room, she’s greeted by the sight of Laurel, doing push-ups, in her sports bra (coincidentally, the only thing that had avoided either being ripped or get covered in blood during her fight the night before), and the sweatpants she borrowed from Claire.

Claire pauses, watching Laurel’s muscles tense, and she can’t stop her eyes from wandering over Laurel’s back. Suddenly, Claire remembers-

"What the fuck are you doing! You're going to pull your stitches!" Laurel gets up quickly, and a pained expression crosses her features.

Claire growls “The least you can do when I patch you up is to NOT rip the fucking stitches the next day.” She gestures towards the couch. “Sit.”

Laurel does, and at least she has the good sense to look slightly ashamed.

Claire stomps over to her, all while muttering about all the "impatient vigilante crap" she has to deal with. Laurel startles slightly as Claire leans in, closely examining the stitches, as she supports herself with a hand on Laurel’s thigh.

“You’re lucky.” Claire states, straightening her back once more. “It looks fine. Do not expect me to fix you if you do dumb shit like this.”

Laurel nods, looking like the epitome of innocence. “I made you coffee.” She motions towards Claire’s living room table.

“It’s the only thing you had at home.” Laurel shrugs sheepishly. “I would’ve liked to thank you properly, but well, there’s literally nothing in your fridge. I don’t see what you’re living off of.”

Claire blinks.

“So, anyway, thank you. I really appreciate it.” Laurel smiles at her. “Not everyone would’ve taken a half-dead vigilante into their home.”

“Well. It seems to be becoming a bad habit.” Claire mutters.

  
\----------------

 

Her seeing Laurel somehow also becomes a habit. There’s the patching up, sure, but Laurel starts coming over just to hang out. Claire hears all about her teammates, still under their code names, of course. Laurel starts talking about Claire meeting them. Claire learns Laurel is a lawyer and she laughs, because _really_.

Once, when Laurel shows up at her doorstep with a particularly nasty cut in her side, Claire offers her something to help. That’s when Laurel tells her all about her addiction, the most awful parts of her life. And Claire isn’t so sure she wants to meet some of these teammates anymore.

Laurel tells her about them all. The code names are slowly replaced by real names, as she slips up more than once, and eventually she just gives it up. She’s met Matt by now, and knows Claire can keep the secret.

Claire takes to calling Oliver “the asshole” and the first time she does, Laurel looks shocked for a full second, before bursting out in laughter. Claire smiles, and Laurel’s fingers intertwine with her own.

After that, Claire simply starts distracting Laurel while she’s stitching her up. Mostly she talks to Laurel in hushed tones, stories in Spanish, of things her grandmother told her a long time ago. While she speaks, Laurel simply looks at her, something like awe in her gaze. Claire’s gone lovestruck. Laurel smiles, and Claire’s heart flutters.

She’s a grown woman, dammit. Sure, Matt made her feel.. something. But it was just- not the same.

Matt was darker. Laurel, even in the midst of all the chaos, still stays light. She smiles, and Claire is just a little more okay with all the crazy shit going down in this godforsaken town.

\----------------

It’s been two months. Two months since Laurel stumbled into her life, quite literally. Laurel now understands more or less everything Claire says in Spanish, and her speaking is only slightly off. Claire’s impressed, she has to say.

And Claire’s still lovestruck. It’s annoying, quite frankly. She’s a grown woman.

So one day, she decides, enough is enough. As Laurel passes the couch, Claire reaches out, and takes hold of Laurel’s wrist. Laurel turns to her. “Claire?”

Claire pulls, and Laurel falls half on top of her, the hand not held by Claire supporting her.

Laurel’s eyes flicker, and her lips twitch into a smile.

“It’s about time.” She leans forward, capturing Claire’s lips with her own. Claire’s hands end up on Laurel’s waist, pulling her closer, and Laurel properly straddles Claire’s legs.

“Took you-” Laurel kisses her neck.

“-long enough.” She finishes, and places a quick kiss on Claire’s lips.

Claire pushes her down onto the couch, so Laurel’s laying down, and Claire sits in between her thighs. “You could’ve done something, asshole. Why do you feel the need to continuously make my life so damn complicated?”

Laurel fists a hand in Claire’s shirt, and pulls her down, laughing.

\----------------

Laurel _screams_ and Claire falls out of the bed at the sound of glass shattering.

“What the fuck??” She exclaims, getting up quickly, catching a glimpse of Laurel’s disheveled hair and heaving chest, before she turns toward her bedroom window.

“What the fuck..?” She repeats, this time quieter.

“Oh my God!” Laurel buries her face in a pillow. “I am so, so sorry!” She sounds like she’s laughing, and Claire turns to her.

“What the fuck, Laurel?” Laurel looks up again.

“Canary Cry. Remember?” Claire doesn’t know whether to be smug about eliciting such a response from Laurel, or pissed about her windows.

“Wouldn’t that have been a good thing to mention, oh I don’t know, _before_ we had sex?”

Laurel looks embarrassed. “I’m not usually _that_ vocal…” She mumbles.

“This is gonna be so fucking expensive.” Claire grumbles. “My life would be so much simpler without this shit.” She pulls on a shirt, and places a kiss on Laurel’s forehead before stomping out to the kitchen, continuously vocalizing her annoyance while starting to prepare coffee.

Laurel stays in bed for a minute, a fond smile donning her face.

\----------------  
 

Laurel suggests having Oliver pay for the windows, and label it as “vigilante expenses”. Claire isn’t against the idea. Not that she’d been very eager to meet _Oliver Queen_ , but she’s even less eager to pay the ridiculous amount of money replacing every single window in her apartment would cost. She supposes she’s lucky Laurel didn’t blow out all the windows in the building. Claire grins to herself. She’s a little proud, okay?

 

So she meets team Arrow. They’ve apparently heard of her, too, because they all meet her with a smile. When Laurel vocalizes the reason for Claire’s surprise visit, Thea grins, Diggle shakes his head, Felicity blushes, and Oliver simply asks “How the hell did you blow out ALL the windows? And why were you screaming in Claire's apartment?" He shakes his head. The rest of team Arrow exchanges looks, and before Claire can start explaining, Felicity leans in to whisper something in his ear.

“OH.” Oliver says. He looks between Claire and Laurel. “I don’t get why _I_ should pay for that.”

“Listen to me, Mr. Rich Guy. I think after ten years of being a little shit, this is the least you can do for Laurel.” Claire smiles at him, and Thea laughs out loud.

   
\----------------

Claire begins to help with patching the rest of team Arrow up, as well. Occasionally. Oliver avoids it as much as he can.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Claire rolls her eyes as Oliver flinches.

Oliver glares at her. “You’re far more careful with Laurel.”

“Porque me gusta _ella_.” Claire mutters, glaring back. Laurel grins.

 

He complains about it later. “She’s scary.”

“You went up against Ra's al Ghul and you're scared of a _nurse_ , Oliver?" Laurel smirks at him.

“Shut up Laurel, she's nice to _you_.”

 

\----------------

 

“You really should get some type of body armor rather than this leather crap.” Claire mutters.

Laurel grins. “You like it, though.”

“I may enjoy the way it looks on you, but I don’t enjoy having you come wounded to me, because you’re poorly protected.”

“Please, it’s not serious. Even Nyssa would be proud.” Claire scoffs.

“Also, I’m pretty positive you don’t have to sit on my lap to treat that wound.”

Claire taps her forehead with a finger. “I’m the nurse here, and I will treat your wounds as I see fit, thank you very much.”

“Fine. Did you _really_ need me to take my shirt off for this, too?”

“I did, and I’m going to have to ask you to remove your pants as well.”

Laurel raises an eyebrow. “How exactly would that happen when you’re sitting on my lap?”

“Do you _want_ to die?” Claire questions. “You could be seriously injured.”

“You do know if you want me out of my clothes, you could just ask.”

“Fine. Take your clothes off.” Claire gets up, and Laurel shimmies out of her pants.

She throws her bloody clothes onto the armchair next to the couch.

“Not there! Are you fucking kidding me? Now I’m gonna have to wash it _again_ .” Claire glares at Laurel. “Good thing I don’t have a social life, or everyone would wonder _“Claire, why is everything in your apartment covered in blood?”_ ”

Laurel laughs, and wraps her arms around Claire’s neck. “How could I _ever_ make it up to you?” Claire glares at her. “Buy me a new fucking armchair.”


End file.
